


Lost Cause

by orphan_account



Series: DCU Prompts [1]
Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Invasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4872661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>brillianthijinx asked:<br/>JayDick, Young Justice verse Nightwing and Red Hood. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Cause

Jason is staring up at his holographic statue when Dick finds him, red helmet tucked under his arm and dark hair a damp mess. If he looks closely enough, he can see the beginnings of curls that the man tries to so aggressively deny. 

Dick knows that Jason’s aware of his presence at this point, but he still stops and hangs back, gauging Jason’s face to see if there’s any flicker of emotion, any hint to what’s going on behind that thick skull of his. But Jason’s always been good at masking what he’s feeling under a different emotion, the perfect disguise. It’s no wonder how he’s managed to get away with so much.   
  
And then he speaks.   
  
“Two years ago today, I died.”   
  
_Oh._  
  
Hearing the deep, gruff voice echo in the room caught Dick off guard. He didn’t think Jason would be the first to speak, let alone be the one to verbally revisit the event of his death. That was just taboo with him, plain and simple. Because to Jason, physically saying something out loud makes it real, gives life to the words as it roots itself deep in your chest until it can no longer be ignored or avoided. It makes a person vulnerable, and Jason Todd doesn’t _do_ vulnerable.   
  
Dick clears his throat and takes a brave step forward. “Yeah. You did.” It’s a sore spot for them both. Jason doesn’t move an inch as he walks closer, still minding to keep personal space a priority.   
  
Jason’s jaw tightens, the bone moving beneath the stubbled skin. “So why is this still here?”   
  
_Is what still here?_  “What do you mean?”   
  
Jason gestures to the statue and finally turns to face Dick. “This. I’m here, clearly not dead, so why is this still up?”   
  
“Jason, it’s just a memorial,” Dick says. “And we just got you back.”   
  
“Yeah, like a week ago. That’s definitely enough time to take it down. Unless…”   
  
Dick waited for him to finish his thought, and when silence followed, he huffed and rolled his eyes. “Unless what, Jason?” What could his troubled mind possibly come up with this time?   
  
Jason’s eyes dance around the room, briefly looking at the other statues of the dead. “You call this place The Hall of Heroes, so maybe you don’t think I am one anymore,” he says, and judging by the level eyes and bitterness laced in his words, he was dead serious.  
  
“Jason, what the hell are you–”   
  
“I mean think about it,” he says, and he knows his little interruption pisses Dick off, the glint in his eye was smug. “I died, you put this stupid thing up, and then I come back and do a lot of terrible shit to find this thing still standing. _Why_?”   
  
To answer that question, Dick didn't really know. They had lost a loved one--a brilliant boy and an amazing partner--and he deserved to be remembered beyond the end of their days. And when Jason came back, everyone forgot about the statue because of what Jason's agenda had been. And so the statue had remained.  
  
“People needed to grieve; they had a right to.“   
  
“Do they still need to grieve while I’m alive?” Jason asks, and this time there’s a falter in his voice, the vulnerability surfacing again and wrapping around his bones. “Or is it really just a reminder that the Jason everyone knew from before is still in that grave?”   
  
“ _Stop_.” The word hurts as he breathes it out, as he struggles to keep his head attached. Because even though they didn’t always get along, Jason was everyone’s heart. He was just a kid who loved too easily and too hard under the mask of a disgruntled, no good street rat. And then he was ripped away from everyone before they even had the chance to breathe.   
  
And Dick had doubted Jason. Doubted that he was the same person who died in that warehouse. Doubted that he was the same kid who used to steal all of the popcorn during movie night and then fall asleep sandwiched between Dick and Bruce. Doubted that this was the same boy who said keeping journals are for wimps yet he kept one and wrote his feelings in it religiously every day (and to his surprise it's something that stayed with Jason even after the grave), one of those feelings being deep admiration for Dick regardless of their history. Dick would be the biggest liar in the world if he said he never took a peek. He read it after Jason died.  
  
Because how could that same kid come back as a man who was the exact opposite of their code, who hated them all and even tried to kill them on multiple accounts? And the answer to all of that is something that Dick can’t pretend that he knows. Because he didn’t die and crawl out of his grave; Dick doesn’t know that pain and he doesn’t need to.   
  
But Dick had given up on Jason at one point, and he will hate himself for that for the rest of his life.   
  
And as he looks at the man in front of the statue, sees them in stark contrast, he still sees the same lost boy from before. He’s always been there. It’s just been hidden under pain and the effects of the pit that everyone was so eager to disregard.   
  
Dick steps forward, closes the distance between them—because screw personal space—and grabs Jason’s face, the light stubble brushing against callouses.   
  
“You are not a lost cause,” he says, his words final. He wanted them to seep into Jason’s pores and relieve him of his self-inflicted prison, relieve the lead sinking his bones to the ground.   
  
Because he wants that boy back in his life. He wants there to be more movie nights, and Dick won’t complain if his popcorn is stolen this time. He wants to see those lips curl up in a smile whenever Jason is engrossed with a book and something good happens. He wants to see how he grew from the sixteen year old who explored his feelings of love for a certain vigilante clad in black and blue in his leather bound journal.   
  
Dick just wanted Jason.   
  
Those deep, teal eyes are staring back at him, and there’s so much expression in those eyes it’s hard to even guess what Jason might be thinking. But then he bumps his forehead again Dick’s, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders.   
  
They stay like that for a while, and it’s soothing, until Jason shifts and leans forward, his lips hovering just an inch before Dick’s ear. Hot hair ghosts over the skin, a slight shiver running down his spine, and then—  
  
“It’s rude to read someone else’s journal, y’know.”


End file.
